Mohammad Saleem had been our neighbour for a long time. We were like brothers. Despite belonging to different faiths, our families were very close with hardly any inhibitions or reservations on either side.

Whereas Saleem’s young sons and daughters could not have remained totally unaffected by the openness of the mixed society at large, his wife was a ‘purdahnasheen’ (veiled) lady who seldom went out of the house. Happily, our family was an exception, which she visited occasionally, especially to see an ailing person.

In the true bonhomie of Lucknow, our family visited them on Eid Al fitr and Eid Al Adha to greet them and to relish the extra sweet ‘sewayeen’(a sweet delicacy), kebabs and other specialities that they prepared with utmost care for the occasion. Likewise, they would come to us on Holi (festival of colours) and Diwali (the festival of lights).

Truly speaking, both families eagerly waited for these festivals.

Though basically a traditionalist, mainly in lifestyle, Saleem had allowed himself to be transformed by his new-generation sons who furnished their dining room and kitchen with new-age furniture, crockery, gadgets etc. Obviously, the youngsters wanted to move with the times.

Whenever we went to his place, we were made comfortable on the sofa set while the delicacies were served from the dining table. This went on for several years without break, until family circumstances forced Saleem to go back to his ancestral village in another district to put back his family business on track. He overstayed at the village, giving a long break to the exchange of visits by the two families. Later, when he came back to the city for Eid, he looked older with a flowing grey beard. He was a changed person. But his affection for our family was intact.

Last Eid, when we went to his place, we were in for a big surprise, though. This time we were requested to squat on a carpet around a big platter in which all the dishes had been artistically arranged.

Noticing our dilemma, Saleem smilingly told us that due to the affinity between the two families he had taken the liberty to treat us in the ‘Dastarkhwan’ (traditional) style. It might cause some discomfort, but he wanted us to experience a tradition that had nearly disappeared.

Saleem said it fulfilled his long-cherished desire. It was a one-time affair done exclusively for us. Other guests would be served the normal way. Respecting his sentiments, we gladly partook of the dishes squatting on the carpet. I gave my approval by hugging him once again.

The incident took me back to my early days. I told Saleem that the Dastarkhwan way of eating was quite popular in my community also. But that was limited only to special occasions like Holi and Diwali, when special guests like the in-laws of the daughter were invited over lunch or dinner. It had its own charm and literally brought diners closer.

In my family, the centrepiece was a big platter (thaal in Hindi), about 24 inches in diameter and made of silver, which I had inherited from my grandfather’s time. With a flora-and-fauna motif, the ornamental piece would be an antique today. But in those olden days, it was nothing more than a prestigious big plate. A little away from it were some seven-eight silver tumblers embossed with identical motifs.

In our region in India, big-sized platters became a thing of the past, so was our silver thaal. Space constraints, changing lifestyles, stainless steel and fine ceramic crockery virtually elbowed out the big platter. So, our prized possession had to be consigned to the store room.

One day, decades later, I extricated it from oblivion and let every member of the family have a last look at it. With a heavy heart, I had decided to consign it to the bullion trader’s counter. I also took one last look at the flora-and-fauna motif on it. I felt like crying when the trader gave a severe hammer blow to the 24-inch diameter platter and turned it into a semi-circle. The hit dropped my jaw. He then gave it another blow and reduced it to one-fourth its original size. The trader told me that he would have it melted to obtain fine silver. He announced the weight and gave me its price.

As I rose to leave, he gave it another blow. My sentiments had been hammered and crushed yet again.

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based 
in India.

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.